


Christmas In Paris

by BradyGirl_12



Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: 1918, 20th Century, Angst, Christmas, Depression, Drama, France (Country), Gen, Gen Work, Holidays, Paris (City), Post-War, World War I, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: Picking up the pieces can be hard.
Kudos: 4





	Christmas In Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Depression  
> Spoilers: For _Wonder Woman (2017)_  
>  Original DW/LJ Date Of Completion: November 5, 2020  
> Original DW/LJ Date Of Posting: November 28, 2020  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.  
> Original DW/LJ Word Count: 503  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.

_The War was done,_  
_We had won,_  
_But at such cost,_  
_We now were lost._

  


**Elizabeth Sangre**  
**_“Drifting”_**  
**1918 C.E.**

  
Snowflakes came down rapidly, covering sidewalks and buildings with a frosted icing of snow. Paris was a beautiful city at any time of the year, but looked especially fine during Christmas season. Fragrant green wreaths sporting merry red bows decorated doors and lampposts, and the shops displayed toys and other goods designed to entice buyers of Christmas presents.

Of course, Christmas of 1918 would not be as prosperous as past holidays. The War was only ended six weeks ago, and Paris had sustained considerable damage from the big German guns. There were also many losses of loved ones to deal with, and influenza was making the rounds with unparalleled ferocity, claiming more lives. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had descended upon the world. 

A tall, feminine figure walked the streets in a dark-blue cloak. Her dress was stylish and her high-buttoned shoes were slightly worn, evidence of many such journeys.

Diana walked with no purpose. She was learning her new city, but her heart was heavy. The snowflakes felt cold on her skin. She stuck out her tongue and tasted their coldness.

She remembered her first snowfall in the Belgian village of Veld. Newly liberated by her and her compatriots, the village celebrated their freedom, and she and Steve had been slow dancing in the square. It had started to snow. It had been a magical moment, one that she would remember forever.

This was her first Christmas in the outer world. Etta was guiding her through it, generously allowing her to share her flat until Diana found a job. Etta had transferred to the Foreign Service and been appointed to the British Embassy in Paris, serving as secretary to the Ambassador.

The city was desperate to celebrate this year, but there had been too much loss, too many empty chairs around the dinner table, too many graves and disturbing memories of the War, yet people did their best. They wanted joy and good will toward men, tired of battles and casualty lists and mud-filled trenches.

Diana understood. Cut off from Themyscira, her home, grieving Steve, trying to find a way forward in a strange world, she was drifting like a rudderless ship on the sea.

Could the snow truly cover all the soot and dirt of a great city, and all the sorrow of those who had lived and suffered in the Great War? Diana was not sure. This feeling of emptiness frightened her.

Snow muffled sound. She needed the quiet, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil. Perhaps she would appreciate the season more in the future. Right now, she hurt too much. The world hurt too much.

Church bells began to toll. Diana lifted her face to the sky, tears running down her cheeks as the snowflakes melted on her skin.

In 1918, Christmas in Paris was like the snowfall, covering rubble and debris, trying to make the world clean.


End file.
